When I was a young whipper-snapper I used to play with marbles all the time. I loved them. Oilies, ball-bearings, clear ones, ones with bubbles inside – pretty much what you can see in the pic above, they really rocked my world. Because I was 7, and it was a much, much simpler world. There were no Gameboys*, no iPhones, nothing really electronic to distract you at all. We had fun and it was very, very simple fun; all you needed were a few kids (easily done) some marbles (easily won) and a grate/manhole cover (easily found). Then it was a simple case of playing the game against your opponent, whoever touched the other one, or managed to get their marble in the ‘goal’ (generally one of the small indentations in the grate) was the winner and claimed the other player’s marble as their prize.

Skip forward 30-odd years and the world is vastly different, there are many, many distractions available for kids – inside and outside of the playground – and yet marbles (or billes as they are known in France) are making a massive comeback.

For us it started as a reward system, if the kids behaved we would give them treats. The kids soon got wise to this though, and so were being good and then immediately coming to collect their prize. I had started out with Kinder Eggs: big mistake – have you seen the prices of these things? If you think they are bad in the UK, come and buy some in France, if you buy more than four a week your mortgage-repayments may suffer. So I looked at other, cheaper ways of keeping them on the ‘straight and narrow’. My son had expressed an interest in marbles, but in a collector’s way, not for any kind of game-playing reason. He’s a bit of a hoarder is my son, and he likes pretty, shiny things – a bit like Gollum but with a more annoying voice (love you son xxx).

So, off daddy went to look on Amazon and eBay to price up some marbles – and back daddy swiftly came, after seeing the prices + postage and packaging, and then checking his bank balance. No that wouldn’t do, that wouldn’t do at all.

Then the answer presented itself: brocantes. Yes the people at brocantes don’t charge extortionate prices for marbles, and they can be haggled with. I can’t haggle with Amazon – he doesn’t want to know. So when you roll up and eagerly eye a big sack (or tin, sometimes they are in pretty tins which your children will immediately purloin from you) and ask them how much, they may say ’50 centimes, pour dix’ (50 cents for 10) to which you can then reply ‘Combien pour tous?’ (how much for them all?) and you will then generally be able to walk away with twice as many billes as you would get on Amazon/eBay for a tenth of the price (and that’s not an exaggeration). You see the brocanteurs haven’t cottoned on to the fact that France has gone mad for marbles yet, but when they do…well expect to see the prices start jumping up, particularly among the more savvy ones (i.e the ones who aren’t just clearing out their recently deceased granddad’s house, and actually do it for a living).

So with this stock of marbles I was able to effectively, and very economically, reward good behaviour. As well as using them as leverage if there was any bad behaviour too – a double whammy a carrot AND a stick. This went on for quite a few weeks, and the kids amassed quite a collection of marbles, so much so that repeat trips were required, more for variety than anything; but that was OK, there’s always a brocante when you need one.

Then a funny thing started happening – my son started taking his marbles to school with him. Nothing new here, he often (read: everyday) takes something in to show the kids. But then he’d start showing me his collection and mentioning how cool they were, and I didn’t recognise all the billes, these were different billes. Where were these billes coming from?

‘I won them from Yohanna’ he told me one day. ‘We play them together, me Yohanna, Alice and the other kids, and I’m good at it’. He then went on to play a game of marbles with me, a bit different from when I used to play, but essentially the same game. However I think I should amend my son’s phrasing as I think he meant to say ‘I’m good at cheating at it’. Unless of course it’s only with me that he plays marbles by guiding his marble towards mine, with his hand maintaining contact with his marble at all times. I don’t mind though. I’m not bitter.

Plus I’ve still got more marbles upstairs than he has (literally, as in upstairs in the house, not metaphorically, the kids have seen to that).

It wasn’t isolated to his group of friends either, as I first thought. We started to pass harried looking parents arguing with their kids. ‘He’s moaning to his daddy’ my partner translated on one such occasion ‘Because daddy forgot to put his marbles in his school-bag’. You can see them every day as well, in the playground, huddled in their groups playing away. It’s so refreshing. Here’s a past-time, from the past, which I had long thought to be firmly in the rear-view mirror enjoying a new lease of life. I can’t comment if it’s the same the world over, I haven’t researched it intensively; but it’s great to see here. No screens, all outdoors, a communal atmosphere – just good, clean, wholesome fun.

I did worry at first when I learned that they were playing this game, as my son can get quite (read: very) attached to things. Particularly shiny, small things (again, like Gollum). But he doesn’t seem phased at all by his very, very gradually dwindling pile of marbles. He’s just happy playing. Plus he knows if he’s good daddy will restock his collection – effectively making me the backer to his gambler (well, it is a form of childish gambling if you think about it). So that’s been a weight off my mind.

The real concern is when his sister starts playing…

…because she loves shiny, precious things even more than her brother – like Gollum, but more aggressively protective – (love you daughter xxx) there may well be blood on the playground floor if she loses her marbles…

The cemetery above Saint-Floret can be accessed via a relatively challenging, 15 minute walk/hike. This route, while the quickest, is not recommended for those that struggle with inclines, or families with small children. It could also be viewed as somewhat dangerous to attempt it during inclement weather. Happily there is a longer, safer route up to the graveyard or, if walking is not your thing, then it can be accessed via car, with a car park at its base.

As you will see from the following photographs your ascent, whichever way you decide to undertake it, is rewarded with some stunning views…

Nestled in the heart of Auvergne, in the Puy-de-Dome Department, is Saint-Floret, a small village of less than 300 inhabitants. Settling on this as our ‘base of operations’ for our holiday, we stayed at a lovely little three story refurbished maison. We knew we had made a great choice when we arrived and found our accommodation was situated right next to the river, meaning we would be able to fall asleep each night with the soothing sounds of the water lulling us into the land of nod.

Local amenities were scarce – there were just a couple of restaurants, which served decent grub at reasonable rates, and no supermarkets to speak of – however we were pleasantly surprised to discover the village came equipped with its own 24/7 bread-vending machine – something of a novelty to us Brits and meant that each morning could be started with a lovely, fresh baked repast.

There is a small playground within the village – no swings though! – so for families with small children you are guaranteed to have somewhere to go when you brood needs too unwind. Be advised though that the roads are quite narrow and traffic can sometimes go through at above the recommended speeds, so if you are coming with children then please be aware of this.

Sights within the village were outstanding, with the small windy alleys leading to treasures for the eyes, while venturing further afield led to even greater discoveries. Above the village lies the cemetery, with stunning views of the Saint-Floret and the surrounding area. A short walk – or drive if you have children – to the north of the village leads you to the ‘Tete de Lion’ an impressive, naturally formed rocky outcropping that is accessible via a not-too-challenging 1.3km circuit – this distance will allow you to see the Lion’s head and get you back to your starting point.

The aptly named ‘Tete de Lion’

All in all a great place to stay, possibly lacking in much in the way of excitement for the older children, however if you are a walker, a person with an interest in history, or simply someone who admires beautiful views then this is heartily recommended.

So we come, at last, to the final day of the festival celebrating the Auld Alliance. As you read this the people who came to entertain and enthral the crowds will be packing up their kilts, deflating their bagpipes and making sure there’s enough fuel in their cars to make the long journey back to Scotland.

Except for the people who actually live here that is – they’ll just walk 100 yards to their house.

The festival co-coordinators have been lucky in their timing – the weather has been glorious throughout – which has brought the crowds and, crucially, made the crowds thirsty. My plan for next year’s festival is simple – buy lots and lots and lots of alcohol and fizzy pop and then sell it. Then the following year I will be blogging from my yacht.

If only.

Anyway, enough waffle from me, have a gander at the last lot of photographs…

No idea what the sales tactic was here? Perhaps trying to target that Planet Of The Apes/Scottish Highland Fan demographic?

Took me right back to Braveheart…’Hold!!!!’

There was seldom anyone actually monitoring this stuff, so if someone wanted to flip out – say someone who had two kids and was stressed out on a hot sunny day – then this would be the perfect/worst opportunity to do so.

These guys were trying to get volunteers to take part in the ancient game of ‘Embarrass yourself in front of your friends by getting them to try to throw a heavy weight over a giant limbo pole, fail miserably and then have to watch you do it expertly while your girlfriend looks on and sighs to herself’

It seems ‘almost’ feasible when you look at it…

Having said that even the sol called ‘experts’ messed up a few times.

Having to lower the pole…never a good sign. Still at least you aren’t doing it in front of crowds of people….

Pah! He can nearly touch it with his hand now! Amateurs* (*I still didn’t try)

Load of Knight Templar chilling out. I don’t know what the plural for a load of Knights Templar is and I’m not googling it either.

Look at the size of those two dogs! We were told they used to hunt bears, wolves and….

ENGLISH MEN!!!! RUN AWAY THEY’VE CAUGHT MY SCENT!!!

This looks so authentic, but she was reaching down for her iPhone.

First mismatched wresting match – the guy on the right weighed half what the guy on the left did.

Now this was clearly only ever going to end one way…

Or was it….? (he did actually let the little fellow win)

This is a bit more like it…

Yep, this one was a very evenly matched….match.

This was one of many wrestling matches between the professional Highland Wrestling Team and a group of boy (and girl) scouts who were in the area. No prizes for guessing the outcome here….

So, as Porky Pig used to say ‘the the the that’s all folks’ I hope you’ve enjoyed looking at the photographs I’ve taken during the festival. I’ve no doubt that this time next year, when the streets of my village ring out with sounds of bagpipes, I’ll be back to cover it again. Have a good one y’hear ken?

Do you like bagpipes? They are great at new year aren’t they? Really making ‘Auld Lang Syne’ go with a bang, if you are lucky enough to have them playing live as you see in the next year. The rest of the time though, if I’m being honest, I can take them or leave them. Not much chance of avoiding them today though.

My ears still hurt.

Anyway feast your eyes, and I will spare your ears, on the pictures I took of the many, many battalions of bagpipe players. It may not be to everyone’s tastes, but there’s no denying that these people are awesome when they gather en-masse…

With its roots in the Middle Ages, Mehun-sur-Yèvre is known as one of the “Most beautiful detours of France”, and is famous for its history with Joan of Arc. A walk through the cobbled streets of this quaint town brought us the arresting sight of the Venetian Carnival, a two day festival where the participants parade through the town adorned in ever more elaborate masks and gowns.

The procession eventually made its way to the majestic ruins of the castle of King Charles VII, and it was here, on a gloriously sunny Sunday, that I managed to capture most, if not all, of the participants…